


we'll meet again

by orphan_account



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, F/M, basically i listened to my sad 1940s-50s music playlist and got emo, gratuitous use of WW11 standards to create atmosphere, theyre on DIFFERENT campaigns and theyre ORBITING each other and im SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Russell Campaign was in Southern California, some mid-sized city Donna couldn’t name if you held a gun to her head. She had heard rumors that they’d be crossing paths with the Santos campaign, but a city’s still a city, even if it was a tiny one in the middle of vineyards and valleys and not much else, and the chance of actually seeing anyone from the Santos campaign at the hotel was little to none.Which is why Donna was not a little surprised to find Josh sitting at a table in the lobby, a cup of coffee in front of him, at 3 AM.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Pre-Relationship - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	we'll meet again

**Author's Note:**

> hi folks! title is from Vera Lynn's "We'll Meet Again", a WWII standard that in this day and age WILL make you cry if you listen to it. highly recommend. as always, hope you're staying safe and healthy, and hit me up on tumblr at ta1k-less

It was another run-down hotel in a string of run-down hotels, where Donna occasionally got her very own room with thin carpeting and somewhat-working hot water, but mostly had to share with another staffer. 

They started to look the same after a while. Windowless hallways, keys to rooms with blankets that smelled musty and were too heavy, rubbery eggs and runny coffee, too little sleep, too much sitting on her bed in a towel at an ungodly hour, wondering what the hell she was doing. 

They were in Southern California, some mid-sized city Donna couldn’t name if you held a gun to her head. She had heard rumors that they’d be crossing paths with the Santos campaign, but a city’s still a city, even if it was a tiny one in the middle of vineyards and valleys and not much else and the chance of actually seeing anyone from the Santos campaign at the hotel was little to none. 

Which is why Donna was not a little surprised to find Josh sitting at a table in the lobby, a cup of coffee in front of him, at 3 AM. 

Donna had been just wanting to get a tea bag from the coffee bar- she had to be up at 7. There was a fundraiser tomorrow night that she was spending most of the day coordinating with the event leaders on, and it had been hard to get to sleep, going over all the details in her head.. So she had rolled out of bed, an old White House t-shirt and sweatpants on, and padded down to the lobby. 

And saw him.

And stopped where she was, just out of his sight. Donna had seen flashes of him, on _Crossfire_ and in the news. She had seen the weight loss, seen the dark circles under his eyes, and had mostly brushed it off. Josh was a grown man. She wasn’t responsible for him then. She still wasn’t now.

He hadn’t exactly reached out after she left the White House, and part of her got it, part of her _knew_ she had deeply, desperately hurt him. Another part of her was righteously angry at his refusal to see that she needed to be doing more, that she couldn’t be his assistant forever, and dammit- did he really want her to be _just_ his assistant forever-

She hadn’t fully realized how bad it was. 

Every day working for Josh was a tug-o-war with basic self-care. Making sure he ate some semblance of a meal, drank anything other than coffee, attempted to sleep more than an hour at his desk, and that had been a massive pain in the ass. Donna doubted there was anyone on the Santos campaign that was doing any of that- after all, Josh was, in fact, a grown man. 

A gaunt, exhausted, skeleton of a man. He was sitting, slumped over, one hand in his wildly untamed hair and the other alternating between sips of coffee and turning the pages of a massive tome of a memo. Donna could see from here how his shirt hung off of him in awkward places. 

Maybe she could call CJ and get her to intervene- not that she was busy or anything, but really, Josh looked like he was a few steps away from keeling over. 

She stood there for a few seconds, debating if she should just go upstairs and pretend this hadn’t happened. You know what?. She was grown. He was grown. She really wanted this tea.

“Hi,” She said. 

Josh looked up sharply, startled, and seemed to relax when he saw it was her. That only lasted a second, and then his guard was back up. He straightened up and nodded at her. 

”Hello,” He said stiffly, and looked back down to the memo. Donna knew full well he wasn’t reading; his hand was clenched tight around the table. 

“Do you want some tea?” Donna asked, surprising herself. 

Josh looked up again, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I was gonna make some.” She explained, feeling as awkward around the man she had called her closest friend for the better part of a decade as she did around the ever-revolving door of donors and volunteers on the campaign. 

“Uh, okay.” Josh said. 

Donna made the tea- chamomile, honey- and tried not to think about the countless times this exact ritual had occurred between them, after surgeries and illnesses and bad days and break-ups. 

She sat down across from him and slid the Styrofoam cup across the table. 

“Thank you,” Josh said, and he picked it up. 

“You’re welcome.”

If Donna didn’t think too hard, this could just be the second campaign. They would drink this tea, Josh would argue with her about some policy she didn’t really disagree with him on, they would eventually migrate up to a room to work some more with a bad movie playing in the background, go to sleep far too late, and get up the next day to do it again. Josh would grin at her, cock his head, make a joke. Put his hand on her lower back as they walked to the elevator. Let his hand linger for a moment too long. Just long enough to make her think- 

Donna curled her hands around the Styrofoam, and Josh put his down. 

“Are you in town for long?” She asked. 

Josh shrugged. 

“Just till the day after next. We have the Franken Fundraiser tomorrow night.” 

“Us too.” 

“I know.” Josh said. 

  
Of course he knew. Why wouldn’t he know? 

“Oh.” 

There was a silence, in which Donna drank her tea mechanically and wondered if he knew the t-shirt she was wearing was his, abandoned at her apartment years ago, and Josh picked up the memo again. He was pale in a way that suggested something more than a lack of sun, and he rubbed at his chest absently. When was the last time he had seen his cardiologist? 

“Are you...feeling alright?” Donna asked hesitantly. 

Josh looked up sharply, and Donna knew exactly what was about to happen. 

“What?” He asked, his eyes narrowing. 

“You just, you don’t look good-” 

“That’s not your job anymore.” He cut in forcefully. Donna fell silent and felt a weight settle in her stomach. 

“It wasn’t ever my _job_ ,” She said quietly. She hadn’t driven him to doctor’s appointments, got on him about his diet and exercising and sleeping, for the measly government salary. 

Josh looked like she had stabbed him. He closed the memo and stood up quickly. He had bored another notch in his belt, and it still didn’t entirely fit. 

“I feel great. Thanks for the tea.” He said shortly. “I’ll see you, Donna.” 

And he walked towards the elevators, leaving his half-finished tea on the table, and Donna sitting, feeling at the same time useless and traitorous. 

* * *

To say she had forgotten about it by the next day wasn’t accurate, but she had enough going on that she was sufficiently distracted. She had woken up to her alarm at seven with an unusually heavy existential dread sitting in her stomach, and was confused why, before she remembered the previous night. Will had chattered at her all of breakfast about the fundraiser, so even when she saw a distinctive mop of curls make its way to the crowded coffee bar, there was nothing she could do about it. 

She spent most of the day at the event site. They had to suss out speaking order and name tags and a million other things that definitely weren’t in her job description with the Santos Campaign. She had made it back to the hotel with barely thirty minutes to actually get ready, so she hastily curled her hair and brushed it into waves, threw on one of the two dresses she had managed to pack, swiped mascara and lipstick on, and left again. 

The fundraiser was off to a good start by the time she got there; it was a self-running thing, so she was mostly done working by the time people started getting drunk and loose with their wallets. And thank god for that. 

Eight years ago, she would have been stunned at the sight of this party- beautiful people milling around, hanging lights, laughter, a live band playing swing music. But not tonight. Tonight, she just felt tired. 

She stole a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to chug it. 

By the stage, Russell was smiling plastically, nodding as Will emphatically discussed something with an actor that looked vaguely familiar. Santos was across the room, looking youthful and handsome in a tux, shaking hands and laughing with some donor Donna definitely knew the name of. Josh was at his shoulder, sipping vacantly at a beer and occasionally turning back to talk to a woman next to him. He looked up and caught Donna’s eye, and Donna immediately looked away. 

She looked up at the ceiling, and swore to a God she had been steadfastly ignoring for years that if she could just get out of this godforsaken state without running into him again, she’d start going to Mass again. Honest. 

Donna saw Josh say something to the woman next to him, and then begin to head in her direction, so she looked at the champagne, thought, _screw it_ , and drank the whole thing.

Guess she wasn’t going to mass.

“Hello.” 

Josh was standing in front of her in a tux. His bow-tie was a little askew. He really had never learned to tie it correctly. 

“Hi,” Donna said, and grabbed another champagne. 

“You look…really nice.” Josh said, and he sounded sincere. 

Donna looked down. She was wearing an older red dress she had bought ages ago for a date, intended to return the next day, and never did. The back was probably a little too risque for politics, but Donna hadn’t been able to bring herself to care. 

“Thanks,” She said. “It’s, uh, an old dress.” 

“I know.” Josh said levelly. 

Oh, right. 

“Do you want to dance?” Josh asked. 

Donna blinked. 

“What?”

“Dance? You know, music, swaying?” Josh raised his eyebrow, and half-smirked and wow, it was almost like nothing was wrong. 

“Okay,” Donna said, and she followed Josh out to the dance floor in an almost trance-like state. 

They had danced before. Many times, actually. Three years ago, at one of many Inaugural Balls, while he was still dating Amy, he had abandoned her at the bar to sweep Donna onto the dance floor. It was one of those things where it was socially acceptable to be as close as they were now, Josh’s hands around her waist, and they had both jumped at the chance every time. 

It felt different. While it was like muscle memory, sliding her arms around him, moving in synchronization, she could feel the vertebrae of his spine through the coat of the tux, the stiffness of his shoulders. 

He stepped on her foot and Donna drew back, intaking a sharp breath. 

“Sorry-“ he said apologetically. “You know I’m a-“

“Klutz, yeah.” Donna said. 

Josh half-smiled and pulled her back in. 

The band began a slower piece, the lead singer crooning into the microphone, and the crowd erupted into delighted cheers and began to sing along.

“About yesterday…” Josh said quietly. Donna focused on how their fingers were interlaced, how she could feel the calluses on his palm. 

“What about it?” She said. 

“I’m sorry for, uh taking off. You deserved better.” He said.

His voice was sad, tired, and it was clear he wasn’t talking about the night before. Donna stilled for a second, sighed, and drew in closer, laying her head on his chest. 

“I’m sorry, too.” She whispered. 

Most everyone was singing along around them, cheering and facing the stage, but they were locked in a slow embrace, swaying in one spot as the world turned around them. 

Tomorrow, she was returning to DC so that Russell could fulfill some Vice Presidential duties, and Josh was travelling up to Oregon. She didn’t know when they’d see each other again, or what would happen when one of their campaigns inevitably crumbled into nonexistence. She didn’t know if they would ever be able to talk about what had happened or discuss what they had been skirting around for the better part of a decade. 

But at least, for now, they had this. 

* * *

_We'll meet again_   
_Don't know where, don't know when_   
_But I know we'll meet again some sunny day_


End file.
